Page 41 of Blood and Thorns

The thought of her spirit crushed or her memory stolen haunts me.She’s stronger than that,I remind myself, flipping a page with more force than necessary. The aged parchment crinkles. A few other library patrons—a pair of scribes—shoot me curious looks. I ignore them.

As dusk settles, the library empties. I remain, hunched over a half-read tome, refusing to return to my silent chambers. The emptiness there is worse. Even so, the candlelight in the library begins to flicker, reminding me that soon the scribes will close the halls.

I sigh, standing up. The weight in my chest hasn’t lifted. If anything, it’s grown heavier with each passing hour of her absence.

Outside, the corridors glow with a gentle arcane light. I drift aimlessly, eventually stumbling upon an unused cloister-like space. It’s a small courtyard enclosed by high arches, lit by a solitary lantern. A fountain trickles at the center, its water gleaming in the subdued glow.

I sink onto a bench near the fountain, letting the sound of water soothe my frazzled nerves. My mind wanders to the last words I said to Valeria before she departed:“This is a mission. Don’t fail.”So cold. Not a single reassurance or parting word acknowledging our closeness, or the reality of last night’s passion.

She deserves better.The admission is a punch to the gut. I told myself all day it’s necessary, that any softness would sabotage us both. But a whisper of regret gnaws at me. If something happens, she might believe I never cared.

I shake my head.Caring doesn’t factor into House Draeven’s grand design.That’s the truth. Or so I’ve told myself for countless years.

In the hush of the cloister, the fountain’s trickle is like a confessional’s whisper. It reminds me of how lonely immortality can be. The flick of wings, the hush of dark halls, and the weight of endless strategy weigh down my soul. Perhaps I saw in Valeria a fleeting chance to connect.

A sardonic laugh escapes me, echoing against the stone walls.Sentiment is a luxury for weaker creatures.But try as I might, I can’t expel the memory of her sighing my name.

Eventually, the chill of the night seeps into my bones. Standing, I pace around the fountain once more, letting the water’s reflection dance over my boots. Then I exit, returning to the fortress’s main corridors with a fresh layer of composure.

I pass a guard who bows, eyes flicking to my face. “All is well, my lord?” he asks.

“As well as it can be,” I reply, striding on without elaboration.

I retire to my chambers again, fighting an urge to climb the fortress walls and scan the distant horizon. Her mission is miles away. I can’t protect her. I can’t join her. All I can do is endure the wait. The flicker of worry in my chest is an unwelcome companion—one that’s grown claws.

If she never returns,a dark voice inside me whispers,will you regret pushing her away?

I stand at my window, gazing out at the swirling shadows beyond the fortress.Yes,a quiet part of me confesses. That’s my deepest truth: I’d regret it with every fiber of my immortal being.

But I bury that thought, letting the darkness remain my shield. The hours pass, filled with restless pacing and forced reading until exhaustion finally claims me.

In the end, I slip into a troubled sleep, haunted by the knowledge that Valeria is out there, walking a razor’s edge. My mother’s cautionary lessons ring in my mind:Emotion is a liability.And yet, I can’t deny that a spark has been lit—one that refuses to be snuffed out, no matter how I resent its power.

When dawn breaks again, I open my eyes to another day of waiting. Another day balancing the burdens of House Draeven while a knot of apprehension twists inside me.

She’s gone,I remind myself,on the mission you gave her.

And so I wake to conflict: half of me craving word of her success, the other half dreading news of her downfall. My carefully constructed shell is cracking, and I don’t know how to mend it without losing the very thing that sets me apart as a Vrakken prince.

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

That’s the price of vulnerability, and as I march forth to face another day of fortress politics, I wonder if I can truly handle the cost.

9

VALERIA

Ihurry down a dim corridor draped with black velvet, lit by the flicker of crystal chandeliers overhead. My heart pounds hard enough to feel in my fingertips. The banquet hall is just ahead—my first real infiltration into dark elf society outside the safety of House Draeven’s walls. For weeks, I’ve trained and schemed under Vaelorian’s watchful eye. Now, I’m on my own, wearing the role of a human servant in Lord Marik’s retinue.

I pause to catch my breath, steeling myself. A far-off harp melody drifts from the chamber beyond, accompanied by the murmur of voices. The air here is thick with cloying perfumes and magical wards I can almost sense brushing against my skin. Dark elves love their illusions, their elaborate parties, and their webs of intrigue—exactly what I’ve come to exploit.

Lifting a hand to smooth the bodice of my simple midnight-blue gown, I remind myself:I am a prized servant, newly purchased by Lord Marik, gifted with minor domestic skills.My official cover story. If anyone pries, that’s what I’ll say.

A flicker of memory stirs, Vaelorian handing me the forged papers, telling me to memorize every detail. My chest constrictsat the thought of him, and I force the feeling aside. This mission can’t be clouded by personal entanglements.

Gathering my courage, I step out into the banquet hall.

The space unfolds before me like a scene from a fever dream. Vast marble floors inlaid with swirling silver filigree reflect candlelight from a hundred chandeliers. Silk tapestries hang along the walls, depicting half-clothed dark elves conquering beasts and subjugating lesser races. My stomach roils at the sight.

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